


Never Doubt

by Mackem



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Feelings, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Post-Canon, References to Hamlet, Romance, Theatre, Voyeurism, spoiling your partner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 09:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20405275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/pseuds/Mackem
Summary: When Aziraphale casually happens to mention that there is a new run ofHamletopening at The Royal Shakespeare Theatre tomorrow, all Crowley does is roll his eyes, offer a token moan about over-egging miracles a few centuries ago and suffering for it now, and pull two tickets from thin air.





	Never Doubt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dairyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairyme/gifts).

> I wrote this out of nowhere today, and it struck me as sweet, so here it is! Important to note: I have neither seen nor read Hamlet, oh dear. I _have_ seen Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, which even I know is a daft way of going about things.

He does not even need to ask any more, really.

Crowley has always enjoyed spoiling him. He knew as much _before_, of course, but since they stood against Heaven and Hell together, Crowley has relaxed his own dubious attempts to justify the way he showers Aziraphale with anything he wants. Gone are the drawled remarks about temptation coming naturally to him, and the sneered claims of trying to curry goodwill for future favours under the Arrangement.

Instead, when Aziraphale casually happens to mention that there is a new run of _Hamlet_ opening at The Royal Shakespeare Theatre tomorrow, all Crowley does is roll his eyes, offer a token moan about over-egging miracles a few centuries ago and suffering for it now, and pull two tickets from thin air. 

Aziraphale spots the small, dizzy smile that lingers on Crowley’s lips once he has shown his gratitude through a jubilant kiss. Crowley really is very easily pleased. It has always been endearing.

Nothing could stop Aziraphale from paying attention to the play when it begins; not even chilly, delicate fingers wrapping comfortably around his own. He feels Crowley issue a quick squeeze, which he returns, but Aziraphale is swept away from the moment the curtain rises, and knows nothing else from his demon until they arrive at the interval.

When the curtain falls and the light rises around them, Aziraphale exhales happily and leans back in his seat. He turns, and realises with some surprise that Crowley has seated himself almost sidelong in his seat; his legs are sprawled out and crossed at the ankle, and their hands are still linked, but his other arm is upright against the arm rest, his hand propping his chin up as Crowley watches not the stage, but Aziraphale. A warm, fond smile is on his face as he gazes at Aziraphale, who finds himself flushing suddenly.

“What is it?” he asks in surprise, his free hand fluttering near his face. “Do I have something…?”

“It’s nothing, angel. You’re perfect. Don’t mind me,” Crowley murmurs after a moment. He stands, and stretches long, lithe limbs with a satisfied groan. “I’m going to the bar. What would you like?”

“Oh. A glass of whatever you fancy, if you’d be so kind,” Aziraphale manages, and the flustered feeling in his chest blossoms into something closer to delight as Crowley stoops to press a kiss to his forehead. 

He returns a couple of minutes before the curtain is due to rise with a glass of wine each hand. Crowley curls himself comfortably into the corner of his seat facing Aziraphale once more, and holds a glass out to him. Aziraphale takes a sip, and recognises the taste as a Rioja he had particularly praised on previous visits to this theatre. He beams broadly at Crowley as he realises he is being spoiled once again. “Oh, thank you, dear boy! How lovely of you to remember.”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to think I know what you like by now,” Crowley says dismissively, but Aziraphale sees the flush of pink that colours his cheeks before the lights fall again.

Aziraphale takes the opportunity to lean close before anybody appears on stage. “I do hope you’re going to watch the play this time?” he whispers pointedly, but he knows his amusement is clear in his words.

“I’ll watch whatever I want,” Crowley huffs. Aziraphale sees the gleam of his smile flash in the dim light. “You know what I think about all this doom and gloom. You just enjoy yourself, all right? Don’t worry about me. I’m happy enough with my choice of view, thanks very much.”

“Ah. Yes. Well. As you were, then,” Aziraphale says, the same flustered feeling fluttering at his heart once again. He smiles giddily in return, and before he pulls away, he quickly adds, “But I never did say, did I? Thank you, Crowley. For what you did for _Hamlet_, I mean. I know you don’t enjoy it, I know it isn’t your…your _thing_, as it were, but it really is one of my favourite things you’ve done for me, so…thank you. That’s all.”

The curtain rises. What little light was around them dims in comparison to the bright lights on stage. Aziraphale settles back in his seat to enjoy the rest of the play, but before anyone arrives on stage, a cool hand wraps around his own. 

Aziraphale’s eyes close, and he shivers when Crowley leans close enough that his lips brush against his ear as he murmurs, “_Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love_.”

“I don’t,” Aziraphale whispers in return, above the pounding of his heart. “My dear, I _couldn’t_.”

He feels Crowley’s smile against his skin, and mirrors it in the darkness as Crowley presses a kiss to his cheek. “Enjoy your play, angel.”

He does, of course. He always has, thanks to Crowley.


End file.
